


Jealousy

by 15purplelefants



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/15purplelefants/pseuds/15purplelefants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy sees Angie with a man in the automat, and her reaction is quite extreme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Peggy Carter did not get jealous easily, at least not unless it was over someone she cared deeply for. Throughout the years there were many partners, both male and female, whom she cared not a whit whether they were seeing other people or not. She never truly loved any of them, so they were not worth the effort of devoting the energy of emotions.

So when Peggy saw Steve kissing Lorraine, the rush of fury that filled her was completely foreign. Of course she was aware of where such emotion stemmed, however it was not until that moment that she finally realized that she had inexplicably fallen for the boy from Brooklyn. Never before had she been so invested in another person, and never before had she allowed her rage to consume her so completely. She felt like a fool, so she channeled that embarrassment and anger into stoic indifference. Seeing that stunned look painting both Steve and Howard’s faces after she tested the shield was one of the most satisfying moments of her life. Peggy thought that she would never feel such intense emotions over anyone again.

So now, as Peggy watches a dashing young man saunter up to the counter of the automat and smile endearingly at Angie, she is surprised to feel that wave of anger rise in her again. She is aware that she has feelings for the plucky waitress. It would have been difficult for her to miss that attraction, as she spends several hours every day imagining scenarios where Angie might be willing to return her advances. Working in the SSR can be quite tedious at times. But as she watches Angie smile back at the man and flick her hair over her shoulder, Peggy suddenly realizes that there is nothing more she would rather do in life than take that boy into the ally and beat the bloody mess out of him.

Peggy is surprised at the extreme violence of her reaction, however she also knows that there is nothing she would not do to keep Angie safe, and that includes scaring off attractive young men.

Her rage kindles further as she hears Angie’s melodious laughter filter through the air of the diner. Peggy begrudges the fact that the young man must be quite witty, if his joke causes Angie to break out into such joy. Through careful observation Peggy has learned many of the waitress’s expressions; including the difference between her genuine mirth and the fake laughter she reserves to be polite to costumers. This situation is undoubtedly the former.

As the boy reaches out to place a hand over the girl’s own appendage resting on the counter, Peggy decides she has seen quite enough. Barely able to maintain control, she throws a couple bills upon the table and swiftly exits the automat, careful to affix her gaze away from the pair at the counter. One more moment in that room and she would have done something she might regret, such as taking a dinner knife to the hand daring to reach for her Angie.

Peggy stops dead in her tracks. No, she mustn’t think of her friend in that way. Angie is not hers and she never will be, no matter how much she may wish it were so. The sooner Peggy accepts this fact the better, or else she will be in for a whole lot of heartbreak.

Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, Peggy continues on her way back to the Griffith. She desperately needs a cup of tea.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Peggy is surprised by a knocking on her door. She had just finished her evening exercises and is looking forward to a hot shower and then bed. Alas, it seems her evening shall not go as planned.

“Who is it?” She calls, already knowing the answer.

“It’s me, English. Open up!” Angie exclaims.

Sighing, and trying to hold back a smile at the girl’s enthusiasm, she pulls on a robe over her exercise clothes. “Come in, it’s open.”

A split second later, Angie stumbles into the room, her arms full with a large cloth-covered basket. “Really, English, you ought’a lock your door. You never know whose gonna be wanderin’ around here.”

“Yes, quite.” Peggy retorts, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure bands of hooligans will be traipsing through here, with Ms. Fry kindly leading the way.”

“I suppose you have a point there, Pegs.” Angie giggles, and the sound is intoxicating to Peggy’s ears. However, as she watches Angie set the basket down on the front table, she cannot help but picture those gentle hands covered by the boy’s in the automat. With that image comes more, of them holding hands as they walk to the pictures, his coat around her shoulders. How they would sit in the back, his arm reaching out to pull her close, their lips connecting, hands tangled in hair…

“Earth to Peggy!” Angie calls, snapping her fingers. She stands with one hand resting on a cocked hip, eyebrows raised impatiently.

“Oh, dear. Sorry Angie, it’s been a long a day.” Peggy mutters, trying to ignore the fury pushing its way back to the surface.

“What were you dreamin’ about there?” Angie inquires, turning back to her basket.

“Oh, nothing important. Just something with work. So, what’s in the basket?” Peggy swiftly changes the subject.

“Well,” Angie begins, turning back to face Peggy with an impish grin. Peggy suddenly feels a different sort of heat rushing through her veins, and it’s a kind that is not appropriate for a friendly conversation. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, she sits down on the bed and carefully crosses her legs, waiting for the rest of Angie’s explanation.

“I thought we might enjoy some leftovers from the diner.” Angie continues. “I snuck ‘em in around Ms. Fry. There’s blueberry pie, apple crisp, chocolate cake, and my favorite, rhubarb pie.”

“Um, that’s lovely Angie, thank you.” Peggy replies, ringing her hands in her lap. Her mind continues to jump between the boy at the automat and the way Angie’s dress hugs her hips just so. The different emotions racing through her body are quite contradictory, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself. On the one hand, all she wants to do is place her hands around some smug bastard’s neck. On the other, grabbing Angie and kissing her senseless seems like a marvelous plan.

“So, which do ya want?” Angie demands while gazing at her expectantly.

“W-what?" Peggy stutters, confused, before returning to reality. "Oh, uh, surprise me.” she manages to follow up quickly, trying her best not to stare at the view presented to her as Angie turns away to lean over the table. Her mind wanders to far off fantasies of Angie bringing her food every night, in a house they live in together. A bed they sleep in together…

Peggy is once again broken out of her reverie as Angie plops down next to her on the bed, offering a plate filled with the largest slice of cake she had ever seen.

“Goodness, Angie, this is enormous!” Peggy exclaims, gazing down at her stomach and then back at the cake. “I don’t believe my figure can stand to stand to allow me to eat all this.”

Angie’s laugh fills the room, the genuine one, and Peggy can’t help but smile in return as her heart leaps for joy at the sound. “Peg, your figure is absolutely perfect, and no slice of cake could change that.” Peggy dips her head down, a blush blossoming in her cheeks as Angie continues. “However, if it’ll make ya feel better, I’m gonna split it with you.” She holds up two forks, proffering one to Peggy before digging in herself.

Giving in to the rich deliciousness sitting in her lap, Peggy takes a bite and then moans in appreciation. “Mmm, Angie, this is the best cake I’ve ever tasted.”

There’s a blush in Angie’s cheeks as she gazes at Peggy and smiles sheepishly. “You like it? I made it myself.”

“You made this piece of heaven?” Peggy inquires. “You truly are an angel.” She says wistfully. As soon as the words leave her mouth, Peggy regrets her slip up, however blessedly Angie seems to ignore them.

“Yes, well, the kitchen staff let me back there on occasion. I’ve told ‘em how much I love to bake, and sometimes when I’m there early enough they let me make something.”

“This is fantastic, Angie, really.” Peggy assures her, reaching out for another bite.

“Thanks, English.” The waitress mutters. There’s a pause, and then “So, uh, why’d you leave the automat to quickly today? I thought we were gonna walk back together?”

Peggy nearly chokes on her mouthful of cake. She takes a second to chew carefully while her mind races. Images that she continuously tries to suppress jump to the surface, and the boiling rage is back full force, tearing through her stomach and making her head spin and her eyes glaze over. She stands up abruptly, making sure to grab ahold of the plate so it wouldn’t send the cake flying.

“Peg, you okay?” Angie inquires, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Peggy whips around at the touch, coiled to strike. It takes what little self-control she can muster to refrain from sending Angie flying, and the knowledge that she almost hurt this girl that she loves sends her turning on her heel, tossing the plate of cake on the table and grabbing her coat.

“Peggy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, just forget it.” Angie begs softly in the background, but Peggy ignores her. All her mind can focus on is that she needs to get out of here; needs to leave before she loses complete control and does something to destroy their friendship. So she races out the door, with Angie’s pleas echoing behind her.

All the way down the stairs, through the lobby, past the protesting Mrs. Fry and into the dark streets Peggy walks with a purpose, her only conscious thought to get as far from Angie as she can. Angie, the most impossibly perfect girl Peggy has ever met. The enthusiastic, won’t take no for answer girl from Brooklyn. The gorgeous aspiring actress. The sassy waitress. The girl whose smile lights up her whole world and whose sadness makes her want to do everything in her power to bring that smile back.

Peggy needs Angie, more than she first realized. She needs her like air to her lungs, like blood to her veins. Needs her to be her anchor in the world outside of espionage. Needs her to keep her balanced and sane. Needs her more than she ever needed anyone in her entire life. It seems like a betrayal to Steve, this love that runs so deep, but Peggy knows in her heart that Steve would never begrudge her this. Steve after the transformation could take care of himself. He no longer needed Peggy’s constant protection, no matter how much she wanted to give it to him. They fought side by side, as equals, and she would not have had it any other way. She only wishes she could have kept him from getting on that plane, but she knows that it would have been fruitless, for that was the kind of man he was. He had to protect everyone, and that is who Peggy now strives to be for his sake, which is why she now knows what she has to do.


	2. Chapter 2

As the revelation hits her, she suddenly realizes that she has walked farther than she intended. The streets are barely illuminated by a flickering streetlamp, and up ahead a group of five men are approaching her with lustful, leering gazes. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem; however although she does have exercise clothes on, she is also in a robe and coat and wearing bedroom slippers as she was rather too befuddled when she left the Griffith to put on proper footwear. Not exactly prime fighting garb, however she will have to make due.  


“Hey there, darlin’,” One of the men calls as they draw nearer. “What’re you doin’ out here by yourself at this time of night?”  


Peggy plasters on a fake smile. “Oh, hello gentlemen. I was just taking a walk to clear my head.” While carrying on the discussion, she takes stock of her surroundings.  


“Is that so?” A second man chimes in. She is barely able to make out their faces, but that is not as important as the wide open space around her. Sidling a few steps forward, she lines herself up next to a narrow alley. “And is your head clear now?” the man continues.  


“Indeed, much more than before.” Peggy replies as the men start to spread out, herding her towards the alley. “I was actually just on my way home. If you will excuse me.” She moves as if to leave, but one of the men steps in her path.  


“Not so fast, darlin’,” the man in front of her warns. The putrid scent of alcohol wafts off him in waves. “We’re gonna have some fun with you first.”  


“Really?” Peggy inquires sweetly, before swiftly raising her knee to jam it into his crotch. As the man doubles over, she leaps back and sends a slipper-clad foot to connect solidly with the chest of the man sneaking up on her left. Lamenting the absence of her trusty heels, which would have offered a much more effective weapon, she places her back to the corner of the building next to the alley and waits for the men to come to her.  


As one swings a fist forward, she ducks and jabs him in the stomach. Coming back up, she sidesteps another punch and sends a man to the ground with a well-timed upper-cut. From then on it’s a blur of limbs and grunts as she weaves her way through them. The blood is racing through her veins, and a pulse spreads through her chest each time her fist or foot connects with a burly body. Knuckles bruised and aching, coat and robe whipping around her, Peggy is in her element. As the last man falls to the ground, unable to rise again, the adrenaline is coursing like wildfire through her body.  


Wrapping her coat tightly around chest, Peggy glances down to survey her work. Five men lie battered and bruised upon the dark street. A calm, peaceful feeling settles in her. The anger that had been building up since that morning is gone, released through every solid hit she landed as well as received. She’s almost grateful that these men accosted her, for without them she would have had no outlet for her rage, and would have let it stew, pent up for days, until she landed a mission that allowed her to thump someone. Smirking, Peggy turns her back on the tangled mess of men and heads back towards the Griffith.  


The adrenaline begins to wear off as Peggy draws nearer to the hotel, allowing her to feel the aches all over her body. She suddenly realizes that Angie might still be in her room, waiting for her to return, and the prospect of another confrontation seems utterly exhausting. However, before she can even reach her room, she must make it past Ms. Fry.  


“Young lady, where exactly have you been?” Ms. Fry demands; standing just inside the doorway with her hands on her hips. “And goodness, what a state you are in!”  


Peggy glances down at herself, and realizes she is indeed a bit rumpled from the fight. “I was simply out for a walk, Ms. Fry. I needed the fresh air.”  


“At this time of night?” the landlady asks ruefully, raising an eyebrow.  


“Yes, well, I have quite a lot on my mind, and it’s been such a horrid day.” Peggy sighs, trying to seem as doleful as possible. “I apologize if I’ve caused any inconvenience. I do believe it is still before curfew though, is it not?”  


The landlady narrows her eyes, glances at her watch, and nods curtly. “Yes, indeed, barely.”  


“Well then. Thank you. I believe I shall retire now.” Peggy responds carefully and escapes up the stairs, trying to hide the stiffness in her joints. When she reaches the landing with no protest from the prickly woman below, Peggy heaves a sigh of relief. One obstacle down, one to go.  


“Oh, Peggy!” A high-pitched voice calls, and Peggy grimaces. Make that two to go.  


“Oh, hello, Dottie.” Peggy replies cordially, forcing a smile at the vivacious blonde.  


“What ’cha doing?” Dottie asks brightly.  


“Just getting back from walk. I’m quite tired, so I’m going to head to bed.” Peggy tries to move past her.  


“Say, why’re you wearing bedroom slippers?” The blonde inquires.  


Peggy grits her teeth to hold back a growl of frustration, then chokes out an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, I completely forgot I was wearing those. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.” She steps around the pushy girl. “Good night, Dottie.”  


“Night Peggy!” she replies brightly.  


Peggy quickly slips into her room, shutting the door decisively behind her. After fastening the lock, she leans back against it, letting her head land with a thump. She made it.  


“Peggy?” A voice calls softly from within the room.  


Her eyes fly open and she jumps away from the door. “Bloody Nora!” she hisses.  


“I’m sorry, Pegs, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Angie voice floats through the room from where she’s perched on Peggy’s bed.  


“It’s alright.” Peggy replies with a sigh and then a deep breath to prepare her for the next question. “Angie, what are you doing here still?”  


“Oh, well,” Angie mutters, playing with the hem of her dress. “When you left it was a bit sudden, I wasn’t sure when you’d get back. Thought I might as well wait for a bit. Then when it’d been a while, I figured I’d waited this long, I might as well stay. So here I am.” Angie ends her babble and raises her eyes to look at the woman still standing by the door. “I was worried ‘bout ya, English.”  


Peggy’s heart flutters under the gentle blue gaze. Those earnest eyes are filled with emotions that Peggy thought she would never see directed towards her. Emotions that make butterflies dance in her stomach and her heart beat a frantic rhythm as so many clichés come to fruition at once. She can’t think of anything to say, so she just stands there, numb, barely believing in what she saw, trying to convince her traitorous heart that those were merely friendly eyes gazing at her.  


“Peggy,” Angie says gently, rising from the bed. “Are you okay?”  


No. No she is not okay. She is in love with one of her very few friends, and until a few moments ago she was determined to hide her true feelings, to slowly distance herself from the beautiful actress, to follow Steve’s legacy of protecting the innocent. Angie needs protection; not only from the world and those who may seek to harm her because of her connection to Peggy, but also from Peggy herself. She knows that she needs to pull herself together. To tell Angie that she is perfectly fine, and that she simply needs to get some sleep. She needs to pretend. But Peggy is nowhere near as good an actress as Angie is, and she knows that her lies hold no power over the plucky waitress. Angie can see right through her.  


“Peggy,” Angie says again, breaking through her reverie. This time it’s stronger, more in control. “What the hell happened to you?”  


Suddenly, Peggy remembers the fight, and realizes that Angie is standing quite close to her. Close enough to see just how rumpled her clothing is, just how bruised and battered her hands are; enough to let her see all the scrapes and bruises that Ms. Fry and Dottie had overlooked.  


“Oh, um,” Peggy stammers, unsure what to say. Her usual lies won’t work, not this time, and the truth seems impossible.  


“Don’t you dare lie to me,” Angie warns, shaking her finger in the woman’s face. Peggy is forced to repress a smile at this adorably stern version of Angie.  


“I had a disagreement.” Peggy attempts to make it seem inconsequential.  


“Oh, really? With whom?” Angie pries.  


“A couple of men.” Peggy mutters; avoiding Angie’s piercing gaze.  


“And what was the disagreement about?” Angie prompts.  


Peggy sighs. “They wanted me to join them for “some fun.” I was not so inclined.”  


“How many of them were there exactly?” Worry is seeping into Angie’s tone.  


Peggy considers lying, but figures it is useless by now. “Five.”  


“How the hell did you get out of there, English?” Angie demands, frowning.  


“My father taught me to box as a child. He was very invested in the concept of self-defense.” Peggy supplies. It’s not really a lie, just a skirting of other truths.  


“Peggy, there were five of them and one of you. Even with boxing training, how are you not lying bleeding on a street corner?” Angie’s brow is furrowed. The worry is gone, replaced with amazement and a hint of admiration.  


“I’m a fast learner.”  


“Peggy,” Angie protests the vague answer.  


“There’s nothing else I can tell you.” Peggy replies truthfully. She really cannot tell her anything else about why she is able to beat up five large men single-handedly. It’s a matter of national security.  


Angie sighs. “Fine, but I’ll make you tell me one day. Now, let’s get you fixed up.”  


Peggy follows her obediently into the room, glad to be off that topic. However there are many other dangerous ones that are sure to be broached that night, and she is quite apprehensive of those to come.


End file.
